


the magic of everyday events

by SportRayne (rayningnight)



Series: Rayne's KageHina Week 2020 [5]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Gen, Haikyuu!! Manga Spoilers, KageHina Week 2020, POV Kageyama Tobio, day 5 - supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:55:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24834952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rayningnight/pseuds/SportRayne
Summary: “The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.” – W.B. YeatsWhen Hinata jumps, Tobio can see wings unfurling from his back made of all the colours of the world.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio
Series: Rayne's KageHina Week 2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1789762
Comments: 2
Kudos: 40
Collections: Kagehina Week 2020





	the magic of everyday events

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is late. I'm rapid-fire posting for this series, 'cuz this _bastard_ supernatural fic was like pulling teeth. It's mostly poetic bullshit, experimental writing, and gen/pre-slash musings.

Tobio learns about magic from Kazuyo.

His grandpa is the first to introduce him to the things unnoticed and dismissed, how everyday things can be extraordinary, that there is something supernatural in the world if one just paid more attention.

Magic like watching for colour splashes from the corner of your eyes, listening to the morning wind whistles about the weather, smelling the food about to cook in the kitchen before a foot is stepped in. Magic like how Miwa finds tones and paints shades in the shadows of a thousand strands of hair, cutting at the perfect angle with swift dexterity and little hesitance. Magic like the way he instructs Tobio to cheer  _ Kazuyo  _ instead of  _ grandpa,  _ and Kazuyo’s team comes home in first place at the neighbourhood volleyball games.

As Tobio grows older, sports are the best to watch, with volleyball at the top.

Every player runs and stalls with flickers of light weaving around their feet as they move, adding their personality to the ball as the libero receives like a solid tree. How the setter sparks, lending static to the ball, and the spiker leaps and hits with a supernatural speed, leaving a trail of white-blue like an air bullet.

Tobio loves the ball. He loves touching it. Every player lends their own quirk on it, the smoke-trail from a spike, the weightless breeze of a receive, the crackle-snap of a set. Different people add different things, though. Sometimes the attacker hits with the power of a crashing wave, only to be blocked by solid iron walls. The ball is never harmed, and yet, when Tobio sets the ball, he can feel the leftover tricks like trauma, like memory, like something on the tip of his tongue. Tobio’s learned to watch the way the ball can spin towards him, can fall, can leap, can dance. He’s played enough video games to figure out the best trajectory to set it and toss to his spikers before the ball can hit the ground.

But because he can see the magic of everyday events, he doesn’t expect it when no one capitalizes their own innate talents. He knows these players can run faster, jump higher, hit  _ harder _ . But they resist the pull from the woven lights around them, they ignore the flickers of fairy dust giving them warnings and ideas. They follow the smallest rules; they wear lucky socks that add more agility, they drink at only the most parched moments to rejuvenate, and they clean up the leftover malevolence of frustrated tears and sweat.

But they do not take the step further for themselves. 

Why can’t they see?

Why won’t they try?

It’s second nature for Tobio to weave bright threads, to snap his fingers in the same movement of the flickering yarns of light for the perfect toss. He doesn’t need to be told to repeat motions until they are fluid or to work harder until an opponent team’s willpower doesn’t overcome his own.

Tobio learns magic from Oikawa.

See, his senpai doesn’t think through actions with knowledge, but with instinct usage, consistently working serves like shooting stars. He works harder than anyone he’s ever met, extrapolating energy since Tobio has stepped onto the courts. He is amazing and inspiring and incredibly antagonistic to Tobio, but that’s fine, because Oikawa’s star-sized magic is best watched at a distance. He prefers to watch shooting flames from a far perspective. Tobio wonders sometimes, if Iwaizumi-senpai spikes have power in them too, maybe less consistent, but there must be a reason that Oikawa-senpai only ever wants him to spike his tosses with starry-eyed wonder.

It’s an interesting first year at Kitagawa Daiichi.

Then when his upperclassmen graduate, he’s alone. All of a sudden, he is  _ completely  _ alone. More than those senpai, he can feel the black holes around him in the shape of his sister, gone to college, and his grandpa, gone to heaven, and even his parents, just  _ gone _ . There is no one to run with him. There is no one on his side to push him further. He knows there are cracks, quaking and opening wide, between him and everyone else. Tobio feels the oppression of a thousand stares and an ocean of envy and the oafish, finicky regard of his teammates— too big and too small, that Tobio is left with a crown too heavy, made of cooled comets cracking and too misshapen to puzzle-piece together the absence of Oikawa-senpai’s flames.

He doesn’t know how to speak the right words, if there are any magic words, a plea or cheer or shout, and he can’t ask Kazuyo for guidance anymore.

Tobio still has volleyball, he still can play, mostly, sort of. The magic is harder though. He weaves golden light and green energy but his teammates snap and cut and shred all that Tobio does with sharp tongues. Tobio plays, works harder, pushes them so that he can push forward too. But it’s not the same, they do not try, they abandon him like everyone else. Between volleyball games, he learns to hide himself and his frustrations, to take the shadow in his name and fade to the background. 

What’s the point of it all?

He is  _ alone. _

“I’m here!”

He hears the words below and above, someone else, a loud, annoying presence that catches his emotions spilling into the world, who hits him back, who weaves his own magic when he takes flight.

When Hinata jumps, Tobio can see wings unfurling from his back made of all the colours of the world.

Tobio learns about magic from Hinata.

All over again, he learns rules that make no sense. To shout out all the anxiety from festering before a match, to eagerly leap over the last steps on the stairs for the cloud of fairy dust victory, to stop weaving the lights around him and let them weave around Tobio like they already do with Hinata.

As they work each other to the bone, magic follows Hinata like an overexcited dog, ready to do whatever trick. He is orange anger, bright like summer, never cold blue or fire red that’s left burn scars on Tobio. His smile is blinding, his hugs give warmth, and his chatter is ever uplifting. Hinata is like the sun, never far away and always orbiting back. It’s amazing as much as it’s annoying. Hinata is sunshine and rainbows and all those things that should make Tobio gag.

Tobio’s watched his number one pass away, has watched family abandon him, his senpai move on to the next stage. He is used to being in the shadows or on stage, a king, fighting and wrestling the world to do what he wants with words he’s learned by rote and practice.

But Hinata’s only ever reaching for him, always wanting to be present, stomping clouds of innovation and screeching around the proper weaves and waves, making the magic of the world do incredibly new things. If he doesn’t conform, Hinata makes it so that the world conforms to him.

“Somebody even better will come and find you.” Tobio remembers Kazuyo saying, once, a long time ago.

He thinks he’s found them.


End file.
